SUNDAY.
_La notte é madre di pensieri_.
Now tell me how you are as to religion?
You are a clear good man--but I rather fear
You have not much of it.
_Faust_.
It was all very well to talk about going away; but the matter looked
very differently by daylight. It was Sunday; and I knew I could not go
away for a day or two, and not even then without making a horrid sort of
stir, for which I had not the courage in cold blood. Besides, I did not
even know that I wanted to go if I could. Varick-street! Hateful,
hateful thought. No, I could not go there. And though (by daylight) I
still detested Mary Leighton, and felt ashamed about Richard, and
remembered all Mr. Langenau's words (sweet as well as bitter),
everything was let down a great many degrees; from the heights of
passion into the plains of commonplace.
My great excitement had worked its own cure, and I was so dull and weary
that I did not even want to think of what had passed the night before.
If I had a sentiment that retained any strength, it was that of shame
and self-contempt. I could not think of myself in any way that did not
make me blush. When, however, it came to the moment of facing every one,
and going down to breakfast, I began to know I still had some
other feelings.
I was the last to go down. The bell had rung a very long while before I
left my room. I took my seat at the table without looking at any one,
though, of course, every one looked at me. My confused and rather
general good-morning was returned with much precision by all. Somebody
remarked that I did not look well. Somebody else remarked that was
surely because I went to bed so early; that it never had been known to
agree with any one. Some one else wanted to know why I had gone so
early, and that I had been hunted for in all directions for a dance
which had been a sudden inspiration.
"But as you had gone away, and the musician could not be found, we had
to give it up," said Charlotte Benson, "and we owe you both a grudge."
"For my part, I am very sorry," said Mr. Langenau. "I had no thought
that you meant to dance last night, or I should have stayed at the
piano; I hope you will tell me the next time."
"The next time will be to-morrow evening," said Mary Leighton. "Now,
Mr. Langenau, you will not forget--or--or get excited about anything
and go away?"
I dared not look at Mr. Langenau's face, but I am sure I should not have
seen anything pleasant if I had. I don't know what he answered, for I
was so confused, I dropped a plate of berries which I was just taking
from Kilian's hand, and made quite an uncomfortable commotion. The
berries were very ripe, and they rolled in many directions on the
table-cloth, and fell on my white dress.
"Your pretty dress is ruined, I'm afraid," said Kilian, stooping down to
save it.
"I don't care about that, but I'm very sorry that I've stained the
table-cloth," and I looked at Mrs. Hollenbeck as if I thought that she
would scold me for it. But she quite reassured me. Indeed, I think she
was so pleased with me, that she would not have minded seeing me ruin
all the table-cloths that she had.
"But it will make you late for church, for you'll have to change your
dress," said Charlotte Benson, practically, glancing at the clock. I was
very thankful for the suggestion, for I thought it would save me from
the misery of trying to eat breakfast, but Kilian made such an outcry
that I found I could not go without more comments than I liked.
"You have no appetite either," said Mary Leighton. "I am ashamed to eat
as much as I want, for here is Mr. Langenau beside me, who has only
broken a roll in two and drank a cup of coffee."
"I am not perhaps quite used to your American way of breakfasting," he
returned quickly.
"But you ate breakfasts when we first came," said the sweet girl gently.
"Was not the weather cooler then?" he answered, "and I have missed my
walk this morning."
"Let me give you some more coffee, at any rate," said Sophie, with
affectionate interest. Indeed, I think at that moment she absolutely
loved him.
In a few minutes I escaped from the table; when I came down from my room
ready for church, I found that they were all just starting. (Richard, I
suppose, would have waited for me.) The church was in the village, and
not ten minutes' walk from the house. Kilian was carrying Mary
Leighton's prayer-book, and was evidently intending to walk with her.
Richard came up to me and said, "Sophie is waiting to know if you will
let her drive you, or if you will walk."
I had not yet been obliged to speak to Richard since I had heard what
people said about us, and I felt uncomfortable.
"Oh, let me drive if there is room," I said, without looking up. Sophie
sat in her little carriage waiting for me. Richard put me in beside her,
and then joined the others, while we drove away. Benny, in his white
Sunday clothes, sat at our feet.
"I think it is so much better for you to drive," said Mrs. Hollenbeck,
"for the day is warm, and I did not think you looked at all well
this morning."
"No," I said faintly. And she was so kind, I longed to tell her
everything. It is frightful at seventeen to have no one to tell your
troubles to.
At the gate Benny was just grumbling about getting out to open it, when
Mr. Langenau appeared, and held it open for us. He was dressed in a
flannel suit which he wore for walking. After he closed the gate, he
came up beside the carriage, as Mrs. Hollenbeck very kindly invited him
to do, by driving slowly.
"Are you coming with us to church, Mr. Langenau?" asked Benny.
"To church? No, Benny. I am afraid they would not let me in."
"Why, yes, they would, if you had your good clothes on," said Benny.
Mr. Langenau laughed, a little bitterly, and said he doubted, even then.
"I am afraid I haven't got my good conscience on either, Benny."
"But the minister would never know," said Benny.
"That's very true; the ministers here don't know much about peoples'
consciences, I should think."
"Do ministers in any other places know any more?" asked Benny with
interest.
"Why, yes, Benny, in a good many countries where I've been, they do."
"You are a Catholic, Mr. Langenau?" asked Mrs. Hollenbeck.
"I once was; I have no longer any right to say it is my faith," he
answered slowly.
"What is it to be a Catholic?" inquired Benny, gazing at his tutor's
face with wonder.
"To be a Catholic, is to be in a safe prison; to have been a Catholic,
is to be alone on a sea big and black with billows, Benny."
"I think I'd like the prison best," said Benny, who was very much afraid
of the water.
"Ah, but if you couldn't get back to it, my boy."
"Well, I think I'd try to get to land somewhere," Benny answered,
stoutly.
Mr. Langenau laughed, but rather gloomily, and we went on for a few
moments in silence. The road was bordered with trees, and there was a
beautiful shade. The horse was very glad to be permitted to go slow, not
being of an ambitious nature.
All this time I had been leaning back, holding my parasol very close
over my face. Mr. Langenau happened to be on the side by me: once when
the carriage had leaned suddenly, he had put his hand upon it, and had
touched, without intending it, my arm.
"I beg your pardon," he had said, and that was all he had said to me;
and I had felt very grateful that Benny had been so inclined to talk. I
trusted that nobody would speak to me, for my voice would never be
steady and even again, I was sure, when he was by to listen to it.
Now, however, he spoke to me: commonplace words, the same almost that
every one in the house had addressed to me that morning, but how
differently they sounded.
"I am sorry that you are not well to-day, Miss d'Estrée."
Mrs. Hollenbeck at this moment began to find some fault with Benny's
gloves, and leaning down, talked very obligingly and earnestly with him,
while she fastened the gloves upon his hands.
Mr. Langenau took the occasion, as it was intended he should take it,
and said rather low, "You will not refuse to see me a few moments this
evening, that I may explain something to you?"
I think he was disappointed that I did not answer him, only turned away
my head. But I don't know in truth what other answer he had any right to
ask. He did not attempt to speak again, but as we turned into the
village, said, "Good-morning, I must leave you. Good-bye, Benny, since I
have neither clothes nor conscience fit for church."
Sophie laughed, and said, at least she hoped he would be home for
dinner. He did not promise, but raising his hat struck off into a little
path by the roadside, that led up into the woods.
"What a pity," said Mrs. Hollenbeck musingly, "that a man of such fine
intellect should have such vague religious faith."
Mr. Langenau was at home for dinner, but he did not see me at that meal,
for my head ached so, and I felt so weary that when I came up-stairs
after church, it seemed impossible to go down again. I should have been
very glad to make the same excuse serve for the remainder of the day,
but really the rest and a cup of tea had so restored me, that no excuse
remained at six o'clock.
All families have their little Sunday habits, I have found; the Sunday
rule in this house was, to have tea at half-past six, and to walk by the
river till after the sun had set; then to come home and have sacred
music in the parlor. After tea, accordingly, we took our shawls on our
arms (it still being very warm) and walked down toward the river.
I kept beside Mrs. Hollenbeck and Benny, where only I felt safe.
The criticism I had heard had given me such a shock, I did not feel that
I ever could be careful enough of what I said and did. And I vaguely
felt my mother's honor would be vindicated, if I showed myself always a
modest and prudent woman.
"It was so well that I heard them," I kept saying to myself, but I felt
so much older and so much graver. My silence and constraint were no
doubt differently interpreted. Richard did not come up to me, except to
tell me I had better put my shawl on, as I sat on the steps of the
boat-house, with Benny beside me. The others had walked further on and
were sitting, some of them on the rocks, and some on the boat that had
been drawn up, watching the sun go down.
"Tell me a story," said Benny, resting his arms on my lap, "a story
about when you were a little girl."
"Oh, Benny, that wouldn't make a pretty story."
"Oh, yes, it would: all about your mamma and the house you used to live
in, and the children you used to go to see."
"Dear Benny! I never lived in but one old, dismal house. I never went
to play with any children. I could not make a story out of that."
"But your mamma. O yes, I'm sure you could if you tried very hard."
"Ah, Benny! that's the worst of all. For my mamma has been with God and
the good angels in the sky, ever since I was a little baby, and I have
had a dreary time without her here alone."
"Then I think you might tell me about God and the good angels,"
whispered Benny, getting closer to me.
I wrapped my arms around him, and leaning my face down upon his yellow
curls, told him a story of God and the good angels in the sky.
Dear little Benny! I always loved him from that night. He cried over my
story: that I suppose wins everybody's heart: and we went together,
looking at the placid river and the pale blue firmament, very far into
the paradise of faith. My tears dropped upon his upturned face; and when
the stars came out, and we were told it was time to go back to the
house, we went back hand in hand, firm friends for all life from that
Sunday night.
"There is Mr. Langenau," said Benny; "waiting for you, I should think."
Mr. Langenau was waiting for me at the piazza steps. He fixed his eyes
on mine as if waiting for my permission to speak again. But I fastened
my eyes upon the ground, and holding Benny tightly by the hand, went on
into the house.